Kill Team: Rogue Operations
by Extartius
Summary: Kill Team: Rogue swoops into explosive action, their slates clean, their identities expunged from Imperial Record. Their lives of conflict have been spent preparing for this moment, the taking of a prize never thought possible. And this is just the start!
1. The Accountant

**Kill Team: Rogue Operations**

**by Extartius**

**Part 1 - The Accountant**

As he passed through the security checkpoint, one of the maintenance workers reached up to touch the near invisible micro-communicator tucked over his earlobe. He keyed the vox twice, sending a two-pip signal to the rest of the team.

Two pips meant they were in

The security protocols in the Administatum's clerical annexes were relaxed to say the least. A glance at their maintenance dockets and a cursory examination of the ID markings tattooed into the skin of their forearms was all it took. Then the door-valve cycled and they were through, wheeling the bulky maintenance servitor along with them. The security officers hadn't even bothered to check it over.

If they had, they might eventually have worked out that it was a dud.

'Keep moving, we need Annex C,' one of the men mumbled to his partner. They kept on until they spotted a brass bound sign indicating the direction they wanted. Beyond the turning there was an elevator lobby. They picked one at random and wheeled their packhorse in, securing the doors behind them.

One of the men immediately moved to the control panel. He expertly popped the repair hatch and slid a data splice into the card-reader slot, sending sparks flying for a moment. The data splice pinged, confirming that the elevator was theirs. They could use it to access any level above the one they were on, even the ones requiring a security code. He punched in a three-digit number and the lift lurched into motion, ascending.

The other man had already started disassembling parts of the servitor, quickly and efficiently constructing a pair of large bore shotguns from the components. Another compartment disgorged a plethora of offensive articles, machine pistols with several long ammo-clips, a collection of grenades and a belt of pre-prepared directional charges for blowing out any locking mechanisms they couldn't slice electronically. The two men hurriedly equipped themselves for a close range firefight. Beneath their coveralls, even the keenest observer would fail to notice they were clad in high-density armaweave flak jackets.

The man with the vertical scar down the left side of his face reached a hand up to his earpiece while the handsome one used the butt of his shotgun to dislodge the upper hatch, his partner gave him a leg up and he climbed through onto the elevator roof. Scarface keyed his communicator.

'Rogue Seven, this is One. Elevator secured. Rogue Two is awaiting instructions. Over!'

'Two, this is Seven. You need to locate the main cable trunk and access the nearest junction box.'

Rogue Two was forced to climb up onto a stanchion to reach a panel painted with black and yellow chevrons. Using a small crowbar he levered the box open.

'Rogue Seven, this is Two. Have located and accessed a junction box on the main trunk, what am I looking for?'

'Look for a serial number. They usually stencil it onto the jacket of the cable. You want serial 334-892-AV-944.'

'Got it, Seven. You want me to cut this?'

'Affirmative. Don't cut anything else...'

Two took out a bulky set of wire cutters and sliced through the thick cable without hesitation. He then dropped back down to the roof of the elevator and clambered back in. Rogue One triggered the data splice and the car began to rise again.

'Six, this is Rogue One. Check in. Over!'

xxx

Rogue Six was hunkered down in a service crawl space deep within the complex. A compact codifier was spliced into a wrist thick cable that could be traced back to the higher levels of Annex C. The rare and highly sought after example of techno-arcana was busy intercepting the pict feeds from seven security cameras up in the annex and overlaying them with a stolen recording from several weeks earlier. Rogue Six had spent days tweaking the images, making sure the seam was flawless. Even the time-code shown on the bottom left hand corner of the image had been painstakingly timed to perfection.

'Six here, I've got the surveillance cameras covered. Over!'

It had cost the team hundreds of thousands of credits to acquire the necessary equipment and training to successfully pull this exercise off. The Techno Magos had been difficult to bribe into giving up the information. In the end torture had worked better, the refund was nice too.

Rogue Six turned his thoughts back to the work at hand, monitoring the power fluctuations that could overload the splice at a moments notice and give the game away.

xxx

Rogue One ticked another mental box and keyed the vox again.

'Seven, this is One. How's the air?'

xxx

Rogue Seven was hidden in a small maintenance closet some way down from the security checkpoint that Rogues One and Two passed through only minutes before. He was busy adjusting the dials on a similarly complicated piece of technological equipment.

'This is Rogue Seven,' he replied, his voice grating and mechanical. 'I'm preparing to scramble all vox traffic in Annex C and the surrounding area. Be warned, they may get concerned when their beads stop working.'

xxx

'We'll have time, Seven. Go live on my mark. All units, green light in five... four... three...'

The elevator slowed and ground to a halt as the speaker wound down to zero. The elevator doors ground open and the two men dived out into the lobby beyond, blasting as they went.

Three security officers went down, their armaweave jackets bursting under the impact of high-powered manstopper rounds. Two more opened fire from either side but their shots went wild. In seconds they had joined their compatriots on the floor.

One of the men covered the other as he placed a charge on the door then both men moved aside. Even as the charge detonated and the doors collapsed inward, Rogue One was ready with a flashbang. In it went and seconds later they followed it, clubbing a couple of guards that were busy staggering about in their blindness.

'Which door?' asked Rogue Two.

'The one in the corner, move quickly.'

Another door opened and several officers charged in, blasting from the hip with their own shotguns. The codifiers and cogitator units around them erupted in sparks, the plaster was blown from the walls and a shower of lead pellets filled the air as the two infiltrators dove for cover.

'Leave them to me,' Rogue One bellowed. 'Take down that door, now!'

Rogue One dropped his bulky shotgun and took out a pair of matched Korsch 50 machine pistols, hefting them appreciatively. Bulky they may be, but they had a high rate of fire and a fair amount of punch. They were also reasonably accurate for weapons of their kind. Even if they hadn't been, the wielder was a deadeye shot with a gunfighter's instincts.

He stood, reaching out with both arms and letting the Korsch pistols kick as he sidestepped between pedestals and worktops. The air filled with the pale grey smoke of burnt off cordite propellant, the smell reaching back into the man's memories of youth, to a time when he'd been only marginally less dangerous than he was now.

The security detail didn't stand a chance.

They tracked his movement, zoning in on him as the other of their targets moved away. Rogue One was the immediate threat. They could take their time with the other. Furniture exploded all around the man, but all he managed to catch was a little buckshot grazing that tore his clothes but failed to punch through the armaweave beneath.

In turn, the infiltrator's fire was sustained, accurate and deadly. Two men dropped with bullets tearing into the gap between their closed-visor helmets and the carapace breastplates they were sporting. Arterial blood spurted. Another was spun around by a series of impacts on his shoulder armour. One of the bullets must have gone through because he yelped with pain and wasn't able to get back up in a hurry.

Two security officers ducked into cover and started taking blind pot shots over the tops of the work units. Rogue one took a frag grenade from his belt and cooked it off, tossing it up and over behind the units they were ensconced behind. A second or two later, two broken bodies were belched into the air in a cloud of fiery smoke.

Rogue One was taking no chances. He walked over and put a bullet through each man's head then checked over the room they'd come from.

'We're clear over here, how's it going with that door?'

'Almost there,' Two replied, checking the codifier attached to his own data splice. The reinforced door was code locked. No amount of explosive charges would have worried it, but they'd bought what they were told was the master codifier at an extortionate price on the black market. There were no guarantees that it would work, but if not there were less subtle ways of gaining access. Rogue Five was standing by.

'Got it!' The door cycled and hissed inward. The mournful cries of a herd of terrified scribes and scriveners issued forth as the two armed men walked into the room with their shotguns held to their shoulders.

They'd heard the racket outside. They'd thought themselves secure in their heavily armoured crypt. They were gravely mistaken.

'Which one of you is Tordoph Raize?' Rogue One barked.

The target didn't volunteer his own identity, but several of the others raised fingers to indicate an emaciated crone of a man with cortical mechadendrites festooning the back of his skull.

Rogue two took a geno-sampler from his pocket and stabbed the little man with it. The indicator light flashed green.

'This is him, alright!'

'Dose him. We don't have much time.'

Rogue two took a hypodermic from his satchel and sedated the whimpering crone, whose heart might otherwise have given out with all the excitement. Hefting the limp form over one shoulder, Rogue One led the way back out towards the elevator.

'One to all units, we have the accountant. Rogue Three, you are go! Rogues Six and Seven, prepare to bug out on my signal. Rogues Four and Five, stand at ready! We're getting the hell out of here.'

They retreated to the elevator. Rogue Two unhooked the lifeless servitor from its harness and slung the emaciated corpse out into the blood-smeared lobby. Together they hoisted the accountant up into the harness. The little man's hairless, colourless head drooped, his receding chin not quite resting on his bony chest.

With the target secured, they activated the lift again.

'Help me with this, will you?' said Rogue One, indicating the torn-up coveralls. Rogue Two passed him the broad utility belt he was wearing. It concealed the damage well enough.

The elevator took them back down to the level on which they'd gained access to the secure annexes. Here they trundled their prize inconspicuously back through. This time they were not even stopped for a cursory check. The guard had changed three minutes before and the new man hadn't bothered to check the manifest to see that they'd only been in there for a few minutes. It generally took longer than that to repair a cogitator unit.

As they were moving down the corridor towards the main trunk elevator rotunda Rogues Four and Five emerged from their positions behind them, keeping their sharp eyes on any security personnel that may be walking the halls. Rogue Seven emerged ahead of them, his equipment bagged up in the satchel he carried over one shoulder.

Together, the infiltrators entered another elevator with their prize. None of them spoke a word. None of them even acknowledged the others. The gig wasn't up yet. They still had a ways to go.

As the elevator opened up on the Transport level, the alarm klaxons began to blare.

'Shit!' Rogue One swore. 'They weren't supposed to raise the alarm for another six minutes.'

'Somebody frakked up good, boss!' Two replied.

'No use crying over spilt milk, fellas,' said Rogue Five, shrugging her massive shoulders and patting the concealed assault rifle strapped to her leg. 'Let's get this guy portable, shall we?'

Rogue One nodded curtly, detaching Raize's constraints and, with Two's help, strapping him across Rogue Five's back. Within seconds they were ready to roll and One waved the others forward.

The shuttle bays were always going to be the first thing to get locked down in the event of a high alert status. But the Rogue team had ways of dealing with such obstructions. It wasn't their ideal solution, but it would do the job in a pinch.

'Six, this is One, report your status. Over!'

'I'm en route, three minutes. Over!'

'Head for the security module on the Transport level. We'll meet you there. Over!'

'Affirmative, Six out!'

'All right, people, by the numbers. We don't want to draw too much attention.'

Rogue four took point, armed with a silenced assault rifle similar to Rogue Five's, who took up position at the centre of the group, seeing as she carried the prize. The Korsch machine pistols were reconstructed but Rogue One's holstered them in favour of a broad-bladed knife. They'd be close to hand just in case they were needed.

Two guards rushed towards them, shotguns held across their chests. They were obviously headed up-stack because they weren't paying enough attention to save their sorry lives. Rogue Four put them on the floor with bullets through their eyes.

The security module was only partially manned, having redeployed most of its personnel to making sure the shuttle bays were locked down and guarded. The rest of their manpower had been sent to join the hunt for whoever it was that had shot up Annex C. They didn't stand a chance. Rogue One took out the corridor sentry with his knife and Four stormed the room, killing the two security men without conscience.

Rogue Seven moved to look over the equipment. The massive security console was studded with control panels and pict-feeds from the six shuttle-bays adjoining the security hub. Seven was quickly able to identify which was the softest target.

'Looks like we need Bay Three,' he declared. Rogue One nodded at Two and Four, who left the room with determined expressions on their faces. Rogue Six arrived shortly after their departure and wasted no time in logging into the terminal indicated by his teammates. Inserting a data splice he went to work on their exit strategy.

xxx

Rogue Four grinned as he charged down the pair of guards watching Bay Three. Bullets tore into the alert but unsuspecting men and they went down in a twitching heap. He leapt over them and smacked the door-release panel. Rogue Two folded in behind him as the door cycled open, his shotgun levelled and ready.

Inside, the Bay was deserted. The outer doors were sealed. Crates were piled against the walls, flanking a service ramp that led down into the storage levels below.

'Drag those bodies inside and watch the corridor,' said Two. 'I'll check the service entrance.'

'Sure thing, Daz...'

Rogue Two rounded on Four, pinning him with an accusatory finger.

'Damn it, no names, how many times do you have to be told?'

'Yeesh, man, cool it!'

'I'm telling you, drop my name again, in whatever form, and I'll leave you here in pieces...'

Four held up his arms in surrender, a look of mock apology on his surly features. Just at that moment buckshot sprayed their position, scoring Four with superficial grazing but knocking Two from his feet, his weapon flying from his fingers.

'Man down!' Four shouted into his vox as he dived for cover by the door. 'We've got tangos, lots of tangos...' he opened up with his assault rifle as a security detail moved up the ramp from below, shooting from the hip as they came. One went down but three more made cover. One stayed put to keep Four pinned while the other two started moving around behind the crates to close on his position.

'Stay put, Four, the cavalry's inbound!'

xxx

The rest of the team packed up their operation and piled out into the corridor. Seven and Six took the lead while Five backed them up. One brought up the rear, unshipping his Korsch pistols as they closed on Bay Three.

That was when their luck ran out.

The security forces had found them. It was probable that the men in Bay Three had called it in but there could have been any number of reasons for the sudden security presence on the Transport Level. In the end it mattered little why they were there, blocking the path to Bay Three.

Scarface turned to fix his cold eyes on his team and uttered two words that caused their features to harden.

'Extreme prejudice!'

Four against twenty was long odds. The security forces didn't stand a chance. They dived for doorways as the team made its way relentlessly towards them. High-powered assault rifles stitched puckered lines of bullet holes in the walls. Tube grenades popped as they were projected from under-slung launchers, filling the corridor with fire and shrapnel.

Security personnel were separated from their limbs, their weapons or their bladder control in the face of their ferocious advance. In seconds the team was through the door and into the hangar bay.

They fanned out, pinning the security personnel that had gone to ground amidst the packing crates near the service ramp.

Rogue Four had managed to drag Two into cover. He was dazed and bleeding, but upon coaxing he managed to groan and swear so he couldn't have been too badly hurt.

Scarface reached up to his bead.

'What's your ETA, Three?'

'You might want to stand back, One, we're coming in…'

'COVER!!!'

The team dived into shelter, hunkering down behind packing crates, crane control boxes or behind bulkheads. With an ear-splitting explosion the massive landing gates tore inward. Hot air gushed over them, carrying the stench of high explosive fyceline and cordite.

A matt black, Guard issue Valkyrie with the Imperial markings scraped off lunged through the breach and set down. The side hatch was already open, the white-haired gunner ready with his high-calibre cannon to cover the extraction.

The rear exit ramp levered open and the team moved into the interior, securing the still-dazed Two into a seat before seeing to themselves. Even as they did so the Valkyrie was lifting off again, nosing out into the high-stack air lanes.

A couple of security speeders picked them up straight away. Rogue One manned the second cannon and together they scratched the bogeys with a minimum of fuss.

'Secure the hatches back there, we're going dark!' Three spoke over the cabin speaker.

One and white-hair pulled their cannons inside on their gimble-mounts and slammed the sliding hatches closed, shutting out the greater part of the turbine noise emitted by the flier's engines.

The rest of the flight would be blind for them. Their fates lay in the hands of their pilot.

xxx

Tordoph Raize woke to a purple haze of drug-induced euphoria. He was strapped into a chair, bound hand and foot, but this didn't concern him too much with all the lovely things the narcotics were doing to him.

A scarred face loomed before him, a shaven headed ruffian who looked like he'd killed his fair share of anyone that got in his way without too much remorse. But Raize was too high to give a damn.

He vaguely registered the man's words.

'Don't worry, old man. This'll soon be over. We're nearly through the last of the synaptic seals. As soon as we've extracted all those secret account numbers you can go on your way. No hard feelings, eh?'

It took him a couple of minutes to work out the implications of what the boy said. When his befuddled mind had wrapped itself around the conundrum his eyes widened in panic, even through the haze… his heart palpitated in his chest, an implant-induced arrhythmia, the beginnings of a massive heart attack. The calming drugs slowed it down, but the hardware his masters had installed was the best in a line of biological failsafe implants. Tordoph Raize was the receptacle for a great many secrets, the key that would unlock a quarter of a billion credits embezzled from the sub-sector Administratum.

Three minutes later, Tordoph Raize was pronounced officially brain-dead.

xxx

Corgan turned to Toal, whose fevered brow was dripping on the green glowing cogitator readout.

'Did we get it?'

Toal punched up a few more codes. A series of nervous looks passed between the other occupants of the room. Wheln looked up from the vox hardware he'd been tinkering with, Lita scratched her temple and shrugged in Frocar's direction. Darron scowled at Pars as he picked at the dressing on his shoulder, the other man only grinned, completely unperturbed. Perri was a silent and inscrutable as he always was, cleaning his assault rifle with an oily piece of vizzy cloth.

Toal breathed a deep sigh that could have passed for relief or disappointment. He swivelled in his seat, wiped sweat from his brow and looked up at Corgan.

'Two hundred and fifty nine billion in the bank, plus change!'

Corgan nodded, almost cracking a smile. He turned to survey the room's occupants.

'As much as I'd like to kiss our esteemed colleague on a job well done, I'll refrain for the time being. Instead I'd like to congratulate you all on becoming so stupidly, insanely rich…'

xxx

In a run down, neath-stack hab on the lower east side of Patrician Secundus seventeen light-years away, Alfonso Shopal waited beside a beaten up old codifier, hard-wired into the hab's decrepit trunk-line. He played cards with his compatriot, bored or the constant waiting.

It made him jump when the codifier burbled to life, spitting out a ream of paper. Once it had finished he tore the strip and held it up to the flickering bulb to read what it said.

Congratulations on your recent windfall. Funds are now available to go ahead with the next phase of operations. May fortune favours the audacious! Imperator conservo nosta animus.+++


	2. Enter the Underworld

**Kill Team: Rogue Operations**

**by Extartius**

**Part 2 – Enter the Underworld**

Pedro Picassa Caruso was a newly made man. Formerly an associate to the late Endo Valdi, he'd made his bones on the streets of the Bay Bowery and recently been initiated into Don Cortezante's Family. Under Valdi's leadership he'd gone up against the Barazza, the Fratteli and the Guiglio, running them out of business all along the Via Funghella and its tributaries. Since Valdi's death he'd been given the man's turf. Life was looking up. Pedro Picassa Caruso was a man that was going places.

The Bay Bowery was nominally Cortezante territory. The Barazza still had a couple of interests in the area, shops that paid them for protection and a warehouse or two tucked away in the dingier corners of the neighbourhood. Likewise, the Fratteli were seen here and there, watching out for shady opportunities. The other Families owned larger concerns out in the surrounding neighbourhoods, the Fratteli out in Cillia and the Barazza in Little Fresca. But Caruso's turf was locked up fairly tight. The action was low-key and unchallenging. He reasoned that was probably why they'd given it to him.

Even so, he had his boys gearing up for a raid on one of the Barazza warehouses. The last few weeks they'd been pressuring the drivers, finding out where the rackets made their deliveries. This gave them a few soft targets that would put pressure on the warehouses, the overseers would be hard pressed to make their weekly quotas. This done, the Barazza had responded by sending men out to re-open the lines of supply. Caruso had been waiting for them, preventing them from re-establishing their cash flow and taking out some of their guys in the process. Low on muscle and money, the warehouse owners got desperate and desperate men make mistakes.

He had a man on the inside by the end of the second week, hired on to replace their losses on the streets. He'd acquired a detailed layout of the compound, a breakdown of the patrol routes and guard rotation and a very good idea of manpower available.

Still Caruso waited for his opportunity. He was a patient man, but the time had come to make his move.

He entered the dimly lit garage with Cali and Genco. Cicci and Pauly were already waiting, along with two others Caruso didn't recognise.

'Hey, who the hell're these guys?'

'Don't worry about a thing, Pedro, I can vouch for them. They helped me take down the Allimo last week. They're good guys to stand next to in a fight.'

Caruso nodded, still mistrustful.

'Anyway,' Cicci put in, 'Sali won't be coming along. Ain't nobody seen him since that ruck with the Fratteli last week.'

'Damn.' Sali was a trusted associate. Caruso put it from his mind, still nervous about the new guys. They packin'?'

'Don't worry about it, boss, that's all taken care of.'

'So what are we waiting for?' said Cicci, all guts and glory like always. 'Let's get goin'!'

xxx

The new guys were called Shopal and Arno. Shopal passed for a local with his colouring and dark hair and eyes, but the latter was definitely an off-worlder. It was a combination rarely seen in the Sarassan underworld. The Families were infamously isolationist. Outsiders were regularly used as muscle, but they could never rise above the rank of enforcer. Only pure-blooded Sarassans were eligible to be made.

Caruso instinctively mistrusted the pair because of their alliance. But observant as he was he could see that both men knew how to handle themselves. They moved with the economical grace that spoke of long experience dodging bullets whilst moving through hostile territory. The calluses on their hands bore testament to their experience with firearms. But most of all, they had the self-contained air of the professional soldier, efficient, economical and aloof.

As they clambered into the stretch cruiser that would take them to the warehouse Caruso decided he was well within his rights to ask them a few probing questions.

'So what's the story?' he asked, addressing the one that called himself Shopal. 'You fellas on shore leave or what?'

'I don't know what you mean?' Shopal replied, his accent was definitely lower east side. Maybe it was diluted a little by some time spent off-world, but Shopal was Sarassan to the core.

'C'mon, don't insult my intelligence. You two have got military experience. I was wondering where it came from.'

Shopal grinned and Caruso got a glimpse of the rogue underneath his fighting veneer.

'Penal legions. We were pardoned and demobbed on Fered Roathi IV. When I headed home Arno tagged along.'

'Nothing better to do,' Arno shrugged.

'So where did you hail from before you went off-world?'

'My poppa was Gregori the Knife,' Shopal declared, as though it meant little.

'Holy Mother of Clovis,' Caruso exclaimed, exchanging meaningful looks with Cicci and the other Cortezante hoods. '_The_ Gregori the Knife?'

Shopal nodded.

'Man, he was a legend. I never believed the story about how Putina took him down. The guy musta had help…'

'My father had seven bullets in his body when they put him in the ground. Putina said he killed him mano a mano, lama alla lama. It was all bull!'

'Did you ever get your revenge?'

'Didn't get chance. The Arbites picked me up the same day and it was Orrax for me. Petty theft was all they could pin on me but in those days it was enough…'

'Well, Putina is long gone, but if he had help maybe I can still help you seal the vendetta.'

Shopal held out the hand of friendship and Caruso took it.

'It's a deal, boss, but lets kick some Barazza behind first, eh?'

xxx

The job went smoothly. Cuchi had made sure of the perimeter guards before they arrived. Their chosen entry point was clear. The inner compound was quiet, but as they stormed in through a small side gate they came up against some stiff resistance.

Three Barazza enforcers hunkered down behind stacked crates and it took them several minutes to winkle them out. Shopal and Wheln pulled off a perfect flanking manoeuvre under the cover of the Cortezante men, scooting forwards in a near-crouching posture with their wire-stocked lasguns cushioned against their shoulders.

They took all three down without a shot coming their way, but the ruckus had attracted the attention of the guards inside the main warehouse building. The symphony of breaking glass heralded the return fire that pinned the soldier-boys out in the middle of the yard. They dived for cover but couldn't get off a reply.

Caruso waved the rest of his gang forward and they stitched the façade of the building with solid-slug rounds that forced the gunmen back into cover. The soldier-boys worked their way into better positions and provided covering fire for them as they headed for the door. One of them, Caruso wasn't sure which, even managed to wing one of the gunmen, who toppled out the window and screamed his way to a messy landing.

Pauly had the shotgun so he took point as they entered the building. His gun boomed out and blasted two men from their feet as he charged in. Caruso finished them off, each with a bullet to the head.

'Cali, up the stairs. Cicci, Genco, Pauly watch the ground floor. You two're with me.'

Cali led the way up the stairs and was forced to dive back as someone let rip with a machine pistol. Shopal didn't hesitate, he dived out into a roll, his lasgun tearing into the crates that the shooter was using for cover. He didn't hit anything, but his recklessness coaxed the man to stand up to get a better shot and Wheln put a las-round through his eye.

Caruso was suitably impressed.

The office was stormed in good order while Shopal and Wheln cleared out the other rooms on the upper floors. It didn't take much to convince the quaking racket owner to switch loyalties.

And that was where the meteoric career of Shopal Gregori began. Three weeks later Caruso was assigned to the Don's own bodyguard. It was a great honour. He suggested Shopal for his replacement and Don Cortezante had agreed. As the Family's fortunes took a hit in Little Fresca district and they lost ground to the wounded Barazza in Cillia, Shopal's outfit in the Bowery went from strength to strength.

xxx

'Capo Clementi got himself whacked.'

Arno and Cuchi looked up in mild surprise as Shopal entered the little restaurant off the Via Funghella. He hung his expensive coat on the stand beside the door, hanging his white scarf on top, then came and sat with them in the cosy little booth half way along the side wall.

'Hey Callizote, bring the boss a drink, eh?' Cuchi yelled, sending the wrinkled little man scurrying.

'What happened?' asked Arno, sipping at a tiny cup of extra strong caffeine.

'He was out in Villa Cillia. He goes there every week to pick up this special kind of cennoli that his wife goes nuts for. Anyway, he's coming out of the restaurant with it tucked under one arm and wonders where his boys are at. That's when they hit him. They didn't even wait until he'd eaten his cennoli, the bastards!'

The two men nodded sagely.

'There'll be repercussions,' Cuchi remarked.

'Yeah. The Don already sent Genaro out to pick up the slack. First thing he'll wanna do is find those bodyguards, they'll tell him who paid them off sooner or later and then it'll be time for reprisals.'

'Who do you think?' asked Cuchi.

Shopal gave Arno a meaningful look just as Callizote was bringing him his drink. Whatever it was that passed, Cuchi missed it.

'Gotta be Barazza,' Shopal conjectured. 'I'd stake my life on it. Anyways, we won't be getting involved. What it does mean is that Genaro's boys'll be reporting to us from now on, at least until the Don finds someone else. And if we do a good job, hey, he might even make it a permanent arrangement.'

'More bread and butter for us, eh boss?' Cuchi

xxx

Capo Fenucchi was a well loved man. His tenure in the Bay Bowery area had been a long and profitable one. In his youth he'd driven out the now extinct Ferandando Family, a relatively small time outfit, but then the Cortezante had been on their way up from nowhere so it had been quite an achievement.

He and the Don were like brothers. His men loved him. He treated the shopkeepers with the greatest respect and kept them safe from the hungry wolves of the Fratelli Family down in Little Fresca. He'd kept the peace for seventeen years, mediating over the disputes that inevitably arose amongst the small-time hoods and ensuring that blood was never spilt without need.

Even the other Families would stand and listen if Fenucchi had something to say.

So naturally it came as a shock to everyone when he was gunned down in the street outside the export company where he had his headquarters.

The roar of a blacked out sedan filled the narrow street, side windows retracting to reveal masked gunmen carrying drum-fed submachine guns. A hail of bullets punched Fennucchi from his feet, his white suit blossoming red as he bounced on the asphalt.

Two of his goons dived towards him, one of them catching bullets as he tried to shield his boss, the other pulling a pistol but too concerned with checking the Capo to fire true. The three other wise guys ducked behind parked vehicles and started peppering the sedan as it accelerated away. The black paintwork was pocked with silver bullet holes.

Fennucchi's car had been waiting for him. Two of his men scrambled in and they gave chase, leaning out the windows to spray the fleeing car as it tore down the Via Fresca towards Barazza territory.

There could be no doubt now. Barazza was moving against Cortezante.

One of Fenucchi's men got on the vox, calling in support. As they drew level with the Bowery a second vehicle joined the chase. The new guy, Shopals wound down the window and signalled to them, holding the vox horn to his ear.

'Go back and get the Capo to the hospital, we'll get the bastards that did this!' he said. Fenucchi's men knew of Shopal's reputation. They did as they were instructed.

xxx

The blacked out sedan was a smoking wreck when it finally ground to a halt in a run down warehouse district in the upper west side. Three men clambered out, pulling full faced balaclavas from their heads.

Shopal's car pulled in behind it at a sedate pace. The man himself stepped out, carrying his Korsch 50 in a casual grip.

Arno stayed in the car, kept the engine turning over as the leader of the shooters addressed his boss.

'Go back to the Bowery. Make sure Fenucchi is dead. If not, you know where to reach us.'

Two more men emerged from a nearby storage barn, carrying between them the unconscious bulk of a Barazza goon. They put him in the driver's seat before going back inside for a second, then a third.

'You know what to do?' Corgan asked.

Shopal nodded, then turned and got back in the car next to Arno. Corgan's team disappeared into the storage barn.

'Drive up alongside,' said Shopal, kneeling up on the passenger seat and bracing his weapon. Arno shifted up, rolling the car forward. Shopal opened up, peppering the sedan's engine compartment with armour piercing rounds. The fuel line had already been cut, all that was needed was a spark.

The fireball almost singed Shopal's eyebrows clean off.


End file.
